Memory Lapse
by LaLaFilly
Summary: Shadowhunter OCs. Swearing, but not much 'active-violence'. Samuel adjusts to his new life in a psychiatric hospital following his memory being serverely damaged after he was attacked by a Greater Demon.


"Let's start with something simple. What's your name?"

"Samuel."

A pause. "Your full name," she prompted encouragingly.

"Samuel Bryllis."

"When's your birthday?"

"June sixteenth."

"What state were you born in?"

"Illinois." I smiled at the lie.

"Good. Can you tell me what day it is today?"

"Wednesday."

"And the date?"

"November fifth."

"Good. Do you know where you are?"

"Peterborough Psychiatric."

"What about my name? Do you remember my name?"

It was at the edges of my memory, elusive and teasingly close. "K…Karen."

"Katherine." At my scowl, she patted my arm comfortingly. "It's alright. You're doing very well. Let's keep going, okay? What's your roommate's name?"

"Benjamin."

"Very good. And how old is he?"

"Seventeen."

"Excellent. Let's move on to some memory exercises."

And so my day began again. It was a far cry from my old routine. Seven-thirty: time for breakfast with the others. By my old schedule, I'd have had breakfast two hours ago and would currently be cleaning my newly acquired Greater Demon skull. Eight-thirty: games until noon. Target practice until the next mission came in. Noon: get ready for lunch. Ink up, boys – a Greater Demon just trashed the lower part of New York. Five-thirty: visiting hours are over. Get your ass out and start patrolling downtown for vamps. Eight-thirty: bedtime. Confiscate any illegal magical items from a troupe of warlocks. Nine-thirty: lights out. You don't get to sleep for another two hours – check out that wolf den on the west side.

I had been a Shadowhunter, and a damn good one at that. One on a team of five, stationed in New York. I had been an ace with my bow, and even more lethal with a blessed dagger. Pierce and I had patrolled that city day-in day-out for seven years. The only days I'd missed were when I'd been recovering from a bout of vampire venom, or knocked out by a werewolf.

And then I'd been abducted. I'd taken a detour while Pierce and the boys waited in the alley, to investigate a small run-down building that reeked of sulphur. Nothing too startling, nothing out of the ordinary. A smaller demon, perhaps – maybe just a human murder. God, I'd fucked that up.

It had been a Greater Demon, at least ten times the size of my best kill. I'd walked in to find it sitting on a nest of maybe seven human corpses, hunched over in the deserted kitchen. I'd fought – by God, I'd fought – but no single person takes on a Greater Demon and walks away with their life. That was the hard and fast rule. Never attack a Greater Demon without back-up; that was why we travelled in teams. Of course, I hadn't exactly known the shit I was getting into, did I?

I didn't remember much. I'd tried to bolt, but that Demon wasn't going to let another foolish victim – let alone a full-bred Shadowhunter – just waltz off. I'd taken a swing at it, but not much came to the surface of my memory after that.

Pierce had told me later, once I'd been recovered and taken back to base, that I'd been tortured. Evidently, judging by the wounds that had run the lengths of my back and chest, Pierce hadn't been lying. There were bruises around my neck that were still tender a couple of months after the attack. Apparently, they'd chased the Demon over the rooftops, and I'd been dragged along none-too-gently behind it – by my neck. It'd given up its victim rather willingly, considering. No one thought much of it at the time; everyone was just grateful to have me back.

I'd gone back to patrolling, though no one left me alone again, and that got rather irritating. But life went on. And then I'd started waking up where I didn't remember sleeping. Pierce had found me once, standing at the entrance to the base, right on the edge of the boundary spell. God knows what could have happened if I'd crossed it in my state.

We didn't tell anyone, kept it under wraps. Pierce and I had hoped it had been a one-time thing. Sometimes people had bad nightmares after traumatic experiences, we reckoned. Only it wasn't just sleep-walking.

After a couple of weeks, I started forgetting names. Pierce noticed it before me; I couldn't seem to get the visiting Inquisitor's name to stick in my head. But I shook it off – I barely knew the guy for more than a couple of hours, afterall. I didn't want to admit it to him, but I was starting to forget people around town too. I used pet names on all of them to throw off Pierce's suspicions, but he knew. He kept urging me to tell someone, but we both knew it'd get me thrown off the team. Besides, no one else seemed to notice any difference.

Thing is though, when you've got a guy who's been trained for three quarters of his life to wield a knife blindfolded, and you take his memory away, bad things are bound to happen. I sliced open the arm of one of the cooks when she interrupted one of my sleep-walking episodes. Pierce told Ferris that it had been dark – I'd thought she was a vampire or something. Pure instinct, total accident.

He'd let the incident go, but we both knew he wasn't going to let it pass next time. 'Next time' was eleven days later. We'd busted a vampire brothel, where they were using humans as blood slaves. It was tied up; everything was handled efficiently and effectively. I'd stepped outside for a breath of fresh air. Harris, one of the boys, had followed me out and tried to congratulate me on a particularly nice kill. I'd lost it.

It hadn't lasted long; Rhys heard the struggle and had pulled me off him before I managed to kill him. I'd only sliced him open from his shoulder to his ribs, and it wasn't too deep. Rhys had turned on me. It took a lot of shouting and threats from Pierce before Rhys had agreed to take Harris begrudgingly back to base to tend to his injuries. But the damage had been done in more ways than one.

Ferris had me restricted, which meant that I was banned from doing any missions after sundown, and only missions approved by him. Pierce always had to accompany me, and I had to give a full report of the whole patrol. None of the guys would look at me after what I did to Harris, but I could sense what they all thought. It was only a matter of time before I killed someone.

I only got worse from then on. I got lost around the house, walked into a room and forgot what I was supposed to be doing. New names and numbers were unrecallable. I still remembered basic things – familiar names and faces, how to hold a knife, how to go about my daily life – but more and more, things were beginning to slip away from me.

"I need that dagger – Shamsiel," Pierce said absently, immersed in drawing on his runes.

"I got you Shamsiel," I had replied, and he'd stared for a long moment at the knife I'd laid between us, before his gaze rose to me. I was busy scrawling on my own runes – I needed a reference sheet by now – but I glanced up at him.

"That's a kitchen fork, Sam," he said calmly, not even an ounce of reproach in his tone.

I gave it a half-hearted glance, but I wasn't really paying attention. "No, that's Shamsiel. I got it like you asked."

"Sam, look at me," Pierce said, but I didn't look up. I don't know why I didn't. "Sam."

I turned to him, and for the first time I registered the small silver implement he held in his hand. I swallowed, glaring at the piece of silver in an effort to fight back the rage that boiled within me. Pierce, being Pierce, recognised the look.

"It was an easy mistake," he insisted soothingly, his hand touching my shoulder comfortingly. I leapt to me feet, out of his reach.

"No, it wasn't, Pierce. Goddammit!" I paced recklessly as he just watched on, silent. "How the hell are you supposed to fight off a pack of werewolves with a fucking fork? Fuck!"

"It's still a little useful," he said softly, his lips curling slightly in an effort to make light of the situation. "I could blind one of them."

"Don't patronize me, Pierce!" I bellowed at him, and he'd swallowed, the smile instantly gone. I collapsed onto the bench with my head in my hands, fighting back tears.

We both knew where this was going. I hadn't shown any progress in nearly two months. It was only a matter of time before I forgot how to hold a knife, let alone fight Demons off with one. Each day I was a day closer to forgetting how to be a Shadowhunter. Already I couldn't remember basic runes.

"I'm sorry," I whispered, swallowing past the thickness in my throat. "I'm sorry. I just…"

"I know," Pierce said, and we sat in silence.

When my illness got to the stage where I couldn't remember training exercises, Ferris decided that it was time to let me go. He petitioned the Clave for my decommission, and organised for me to be admitted to Petersbrook Psychiatric Hospital for my retirement.


End file.
